Turning my tragedy into hope

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reflection

I stared in the mirror. Unsure, insecure, second-guessing, I couldn’t fight the voice in my head. I sighed and turned away. It was time to go to school.

Later that week ugly was hissed at me in the hallway as I walked head down, to my class. It only happened once but it was enough to confirm what I already suspected. I wasn’t good enough.

Not good enough followed me through most of my childhood into young adulthood. Ugly waned and there was reprieve. I gained confidence, but the need for more grew. It was comparison’s turn to nag me. She has a great life. Why can’t you be more like her? What is wrong with you?

I smiled. I had friends, a job, a boyfriend. And I carried a secret. I served the facade of fine and together, hiding what I lacked. No one could know how emptiness gnawed and chewed me up, how I couldn’t fill the holes. I hurt and I didn’t know how to stop it, so I dressed carefully, arranged my face, and exposed vulnerability only if provoked.

As I got older the voices quieted, emptiness retreated, and edges softened. I got to know honesty and courage. No longer bound to a lie I was free, becoming more, joy and beauty found; unaware I would be tested in two years.

A nurse handed me a mirror. “Are you ready?” On my back, on my side, attached to machines I saw my body, raw and ravaged, every day. This was the first time I would see my face months after the fire. Angry, red scar around my chin. Bald head. Oh, my eyebrows need plucking! I met my 23 year old green eyes. Too wide in my hollow face. Too much. I handed my nurse the mirror. I’ll never be the same. But, each day there was enough strength to survive, to overcome.

At 37, a few days away from 38, I’m in front of the bathroom mirror blow-drying my hair hurrying, hurrying to finish. My face is splotchy, bumpy. I need a coffee. Hair-dryer in one hand I turn on my iPod with the other, find a song I like, turn up the volume. Doubt threatens, comparison teases. I glance at the foggy mirror.

You know who you are.

I curl my hair around the brush. Struggling with doing it all and not doing enough, I rest in the reminder. I know who I am. I’ve come a long way. There will always be change, noise, something I don’t like. Today I’m accepting. Today I’m human. Today I’m happy with my hair.

I’m joining the wonderful writing community that is yeah write today. If you’re new to writing or have done it forever there is a space for you, or if you just want to get cozy and curl up with some good writing, then come on over.

It frustrates me that so many think beauty is so narrowly defined as to basically only include super models. Because beauty is everywhere, in everyone, and I think most people know this but subscribe to the pre-concieved notions of beauty to fit in, or to feel better about themselves. Regardless, your story was very touching and amazing. You are an inspiration!

Harriet, thank you for your comment. I was so worried this would come across as maudlin and depressing. And it really isn’t the point. I’m glad you got the ‘peace’ of it. That’s what I was after. Thanks for making me feel better and thank you for being here.

This is like a battle cry or an anthem. I love it, Heidi. I love that you weave in your own personal struggle and still talk about something we all deal with: insecurity, being pretty, hating our hair. I want to say something worthy of this post, but I don’t know how.

You are one of the bravest and most beautiful people I know. Honest, raw, to the point, kind and strong. If that does not spell beautiful, then I don’t know what does.
Like Alexandra said in her comment – beautiful inside and out. That you are.

Forget your picture for a minute, which I think suits what I think of you perfectly, you are such a beautiful person inside. I hope that when you say you know who you are, that is what you see. Your beauty pours out of you in your writing every time I read it. This piece is no exception.

Emptiness retreated, edges softened. That’s nice. And so is: I’ve come a long way. There will always be change… What you have come through most of us couldn’t manage. We would have given up, felt sorry for ourselves, but you didn’t. The peace in this is what is truly inspiring. You found it in spite of everything. Lovely writing as I have come to expect and find each time I visit. And Happy Birthday!

Oh, my heart hurts reading your powerful, poignant words. I relate to so much of the pain, comparison, self-doubt – you are a miracle. And your writing is a gift to us all. I look forward to reading more of your courage, strength and inspiration.

Wow, what a powerful post. You nearly had me in tears. I cried to God over a bout of acne this morning…I’m 31. Never had acne in my life until I got pregnant at 25. It’s something I’m coming to accept, as shallow as that may seem. I loved this one. It made me think, and it made me smile. A wonderful combination.

“i know who i am” – – let’s make shirts. for ourselves. for our daughters. a reminder to us when doubt clouds, when we need our chin tipped up a little to the sun. you are so.so. beautiful, you know that?

Heidi Cave

Author of Fancy Feet:

In 1998 Heidi Cave was an active young woman looking forward to all the possibilities life had to offer. That all changed when her car was struck by a reckless driver going more than 100km/hr (60 mph), which resulted in a fight for her life.

Heidi had a choice to make; was she going to be a victim -- or a survivor? read more